Love in Hopeless Places
by marilicerene
Summary: Because HOMRA's Big Three need more love, in more ways than one: this perpetually in-progress fic serves as a collection of unrelated one-shots revolving around IzuMikoTotsu, MikoIzu, MikoTotsu, or IzuTotsu; ranging from AUs to fluff to angst to mature things. It's basically just a dump for all my OT3 feels. One story per chapter. Separate summaries available for each story inside.


Collaboration with capioilla on Tumblr. Belated gift for Mikoto's birthday.

* * *

**Story One: From My Heart to Yours (On a Winter's Day)**

MikoTotsu

_AU. There's a busker who sits on a short flight of metal stairs by the side of the road that Mikoto usually takes to get to Bar HOMRA, where he works. The first time they talk, the busker stops mid-song to ask him a stupid question. With that idiotic smile on his face, he says, "Can we become friends?" And Mikoto concludes; Totsuka Tatara is an absolute idiot. "No. Definitely not."_

* * *

There's a busker who sits on a short flight of metal stairs by the side of the road that Mikoto usually takes to get to Bar HOMRA. He wears clothes that look like they've been bought from a thrift shop, including a ridiculous hat that always sits sloppily on his wheat-coloured hair. An old guitar sits on his lap, its case open by his side for people to toss money in. Daily, he sings; and his voice is so heavenly it almost always manages to bring a few passers-by into tears.

Some people do this kind of thing for fun. Mikoto can tell he isn't one of them.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

The first time they talk, the busker stops mid-song to ask a stupid question.

"Are you a Leo?" he inquires just as Mikoto casually tosses a note into his guitar case.

Mikoto stares at him with a raised eyebrow. "...Hah?"

The busker repeats the question with a broad smile. "You're a Leo, right? Or did I guess wrong?"

Mikoto thinks about it. Shrugs. "Don't know," he answers truthfully.

"Then, when is your birthday?"

Mikoto blinks once. "...I'm not about to tell a complete stranger that."

"You do have a point there!" the busker laughs. "Well then, can we become friends? It wouldn't be a problem for you to tell me your birthday if we're friends, right?"

Is this guy serious? Mikoto turns and walks away without a word.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

The second time, a name is practically shoved in his face. "Totsuka Tatara." As usual, it is accompanied by a broad smile. "What's your name?"

"None of your business," Mikoto promptly replies.

"Aw, how cold," the busker – Totsuka Tatara, apparently – fakes a pout. "Well then, can I just call you King?"

"_Aa_? That's stupid."

Totsuka laughs. "You really think so? But it suits you, doesn't it? You just have that regal air about you. I always get the feeling that you're looking down at me from somewhere higher...or maybe that's just because you never sit down when we meet and you're taller than me."

Mikoto tosses a note into the guitar case. "So stupid. Do whatever you like."

For some reason, that brightens up Totsuka's face even more, which Mikoto would've never thought could be possible at that point. He's practically blinding everyone. "Cool! So are we friends yet?"

Mikoto walks away. "No."

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

"Have a good day at work or school or home or wherever it is you go to everyday, King!"

"Work," Mikoto answers and then immediately regrets telling this stranger that. Well, he reasons, Totsuka Tatara isn't a complete stranger anymore. Their short conversations are exchanged twice every day – once when Mikoto leaves, and once when Mikoto returns.

"Oh, so King works somewhere near here?" Totsuka smiles that blinding smile as usual. "Would you tell me where? Ah, wait, that makes me sound like a stalker. Never mind."

Mikoto sighs, admittedly a little fondly. He completes his daily routine by fishing out a note and tossing it into Totsuka's guitar case. As expected, Totsuka finishes _his _by asking the same question. "Are you ready to be friends with me yet?"

"...You're quite persistent," Mikoto answers.

"Really? I don't think I am, but...are we friends _now_?"

"That's exactly what it means to be persistent," Mikoto sighs again and walks away. "Also, no."

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

It takes about ten to fifteen curt answers for Totsuka to be able to piece together the answer, eventually: that Mikoto works at a bar named HOMRA that his friend owns. He's a bartender, though apparently the only thing he's really good for is sending any drunken troublemakers out on their tails which makes HOMRA's business boom because the female clientele feel safer.

Doesn't hurt that both its bartenders are incredibly attractive, either.

"It sounds like a pretty great place," Totsuka comments once, just as Mikoto tosses down the money.

"So come." Mikoto replies, but Totsuka shakes his head no.

"I don't have enough money for that. But thanks for inviting me anyway, King! Are we friends—"

"No."

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

"Is that your natural hair colour? Also are we friends yet?"

"No."

"...No to the first, or to the second...?"

"No."

"...King is too cruel."

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

Winter comes all at once that year. One day, there's a slight chill in the air, the next, it's all-out freezing. Mikoto wears more clothes when he leaves for work, but Totsuka is still in his shabby jacket and jeans. He still smiles though, and he still sings. Mikoto figures that ordinary onlookers wouldn't be able to tell whether or not the cold affected him at all.

Mikoto can, though. It's in the slight tremble when he says _King_, the hoarse quality to his voice when he sings, the usually unbuttoned jacket now clumsily forced together as tightly as possible. Since the day he turned down his offer to visit Bar HOMRA, Mikoto has realized that Totsuka is a fairly proud person despite his financial status. He's certainly not one to complain about himself, or ask for anyone's help if he can avoid it.

Mikoto doesn't know why that worries him a little.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

One early-December evening, a can of hot coffee is tossed onto Totsuka's lap.

"Drink it," Mikoto states curtly. He'd bought it at the nearest vending machine on his way home from work.

"For me?" Totsuka's eyes widen slightly, and then he smiles. "Thank you so much, King!"

The guitar stops playing. Shivering hands attempt to open the beverage. Losing patience, Mikoto grabs it from him and does it himself and then thrusts it under Totsuka's nose.

"So strong," Totsuka comments as he laughs a little and takes a sip.

Mikoto puts down some money. Waits. Totsuka doesn't say anything, so he frowns.

"...Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask you what, King?"

His frown deepens. "...Nothing."

He starts to walk away, but a freezing-cold hand grabs his and makes him stop. "Wait, King."

Mikoto turns around. The voice is softer than usual, lacking the enthusiasm he's come to associate with it. Totsuka is giving him a small smile. "...Would you...sit with me for a while? It gets a little lonely here, sometimes..." he hastily corrects himself and forces a bigger smile. Mikoto wonders how many of his smiles had been forced, then, if that one could look so genuine. "Or maybe it's just the weather! It's so gloomy, it's ruining my mood!"

Mikoto doesn't answer, just throws himself down onto the stair below Totsuka's and pulls out a cigarette.

Totsuka smiles contentedly and pulls his guitar back on his lap, strums a shivering melody, and sings his way through that winter night.

"_...There are times where I don't know where I stand...oh, sometimes...you make me feel like I'm a boy and not a man..."_

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

"_Ah! _I forgot to ask you! Are we friends—"

"Keep trying. No."

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

The next day brings with it snow. Mikoto packs up a blanket and an old jacket, thinks, throws a scarf in for good measure, and then dumps the whole thing on Totsuka's lap. "I don't need them anymore," he says by way of explanation.

Totsuka pauses in his comments of "How fluffy~!" to grin up in Mikoto's direction. "Aw, King is such a gentle person!"

"You're weird."

"Are we—"

"No."

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

After work, he hands Totsuka another hot beverage and plastic-wrapped buns. Totsuka insists he keep away his money, then, if he's going to be handing him food from now on. Mikoto lightly bops him on the head and puts down some money anyway.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

It becomes a daily routine, Mikoto chatting (if it could be called that) with Totsuka before work, handing him food after. So the first time that Mikoto can't make it to work, he tries to convince himself he's not worried – who would be worried about such a trivial thing? Totsuka has been sitting on that street even before Mikoto passed through there, he could take care of himself.

Right?

He calls up Kusanagi anyway. "Izumo. Give the guy with the idiotic smile some food for me."

"_Hah!?" _his friend is clearly not amused.

Mikoto simply rants off an address, tells him there's a person who sings on the stairs and that he needs the food, earns a few expected teases about how he's going soft and then finally manages to get a peaceful sleep with that little concern pushed away from his mind.

That is, until his door is kicked open by Kusanagi and "the guy with the idiotic smile" who keeps saying stupid things like "Ooh, so_ this _is where King lives!"

Mikoto thinks, _Huh, they get along well, _and then rolls over and goes back to sleep.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

Kusanagi is more tactful than he is, apparently – which is really not surprising – because Totsuka finally agrees to come over to the bar. His smiles light up the place more than any of their decorative lights have ever managed to, and they're so infectious that it manages to bring more and more customers over.

Kusanagi says something about how it's incredibly profitable to pick up stray Totsukas and Mikoto has to reign in an amused snort.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

It's mid-February, and the stairs are empty.

Mikoto frowns. He hasn't been going to work for the past two or three days, so he'd expected Totsuka to be eagerly waiting for him or something. He realizes, too late, that he doesn't even know where the guy lives. Troublesome...how would he find him now?

"Oi." He addresses a group of gangly teenagers standing around smoking near the stairs.

"Aah!?" one of them snaps at him, and then abruptly stops; switches to a more polite tone. "Y-Yes sir! H-How may I help you!?"

Mikoto gets that reaction a lot. If Totsuka had been there, he'd probably say it's his "terrifying aura" or whatever that does it. But he isn't, which is exactly the problem, and it pisses Mikoto off for some reason. "You guys...hang around here often?"

"N-N-No, not really! This is your turf? D-Don't worry, we won't come here any—"

"Oi!"

"Y-YES!" the teenager straightens up, his friends cowering behind him.

"...A guy who sits over there. With blond hair and an idiotic smile. Know him?"

"...Idiotic smile...? Um..."

"Aa. He also has a piercing. On his left ear." Mikoto offhandedly wonders when he'd started noticing little details like that. He shrugs it off.

Realization dawns on the delinquent's face. "Oh, I think I know who you mean...Totsuka Tatara?"

"Yeah, him. Where is he?"

"Hmm, the last time we saw him, he looked pretty awful. Maybe he finally dropped dead—"

Mikoto glares. The teenager swallows. "I-I MEAN, HE'S PROBABLY SICK! T-There's no way he'd be dead...ahaha..."

"Do you know where he lives?"

"Aah...unfortunately not. But maybe those bums over there would? After all, that guy talks to everyone..."

Sounds like him. Mikoto turns away without a word and approaches the terrified homeless people.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

Several inquiries later, Mikoto finds himself in front of a run-down apartment building with a bought bentou tucked under his arm. The landlady directs him to an even shabbier-looking room. It's too cold to pull his hands out of his pockets and knock properly, so he settles for repeatedly kicking the door instead.

(A few neighbours pop their curious heads out of their windows to see what the noise is about and contemplate calling the police to report a scary looking guy banging down "poor Tat-chan's" door, though thankfully no one actually did it...)

The door finally opens, revealing a figure Mikoto almost doesn't recognize. Totsuka is supposed to be energetic and full of life and beautiful and free; the person standing behind the door is pale and looks incredibly thin with the oversized white t-shirt and gray slacks that just _barely _cling onto his body, like a fragile doll that's about to break apart, which pisses Mikoto off even more.

And still, Totsuka smiles. "Oh, I thought I was just dreaming, but someone really _was _at the door? Hello there, King~"

"That's disgusting," Mikoto snaps. "Stop it."

Totsuka blinks. "What's disgusting? Stop what?"

"That _smile_," Mikoto grits his teeth. "Don't _smile _like that if you have to force it." He pushes past Totsuka, grabs his hand and drags him to the bed in one of the two rooms Totsuka apparently lives in. (It can't be called a bedroom because clearly it's a combined kitchen and living room as well.)

Totsuka giggles. "King is so kind..."

"Cut the crap if you don't want to die yet," he says as he finishes surveying his surroundings. "...This place is filthy."

"Such hurtful words," Totsuka laughs. "I never meant to invite you in...side..." his voice trails off as he collapses onto, thankfully, his bed, on the pillow. Mikoto shivers at the rush of protectiveness that surges through him right then. He places a hand on Totsuka's forehead.

"Tch. You're burning up," he states.

Totsuka can't even summon the energy to reply anymore, just lays there gasping. Mikoto hurriedly fishes out his PDA and dials Kusanagi's number. It feels like an eternity when Kusanagi finally picks up.

"_Hello—"_

"Izumo. Someone's dying over here."

A pregnant pause.

"_...You finally murdered someone with that ridiculous strength of yours!? I knew this would happen someday! Hold on, I have this lawyer friend—"_

Mikoto sighs. "Not _that_. It's Totsuka. Get over here."

He gives him the address and nervously waits, unsure of how to help; Totsuka feels cold and hot all at once, just lying there shivering. When Kusanagi finally arrives, Mikoto is gratefully pushed aside and more capable hands check Totsuka's temperature and place a wet cloth over his forehead.

"...So...cold..." Totsuka mutters deliriously.

"Can you get him a glass of water?" Kusanagi asks Mikoto, who immediately does as he's told. Kusanagi coaxes Totsuka into a sitting position and tells him he needs the liquid, Mikoto holding him up as he's fed it in small sips. They try to get him to eat, but he throws up, so the most they can do is pile blankets over him hoping he'd sweat the fever out.

"Smells like King," Totsuka giggles as he pulls the blanket Mikoto had given him over himself.

Kusanagi gives him a gentle smile. Mikoto ruffles his hair awkwardly.

He finally drifts off to sleep and Mikoto can tell that Kusanagi is agitated, because he keeps biting on his lips like he wants a cigarette between them but can't because _sick person in the room_. "...It's really bad, isn't it." Mikoto states matter-of-factly.

Kusanagi nods. "Could be pneumonia. We have to get him to a hospital soon."

Mikoto wraps the blanket tighter around Totsuka and then picks him up bridal-style, blanket and all, nodding towards the front door.

Kusanagi shakes his head fondly and follows them out.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

It _is _pneumonia, apparently. Mikoto wishes he'd given Totsuka the warm things sooner, from the moment winter had begun to set in. But he hadn't, and it was no use to cry over spilt milk, so he just shoves his fisted fingers deep into his pockets as he watches Totsuka getting wheeled away.

"You two brought him here just in time. He'll be alright," the doctor tells them, and Kusanagi pats his shoulder in a "See? I told you it would be fine" manner while Mikoto lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. They stay until visitors are allowed in.

Even on a hospital bed, Totsuka is still smiling.

"King, Kusanagi-san, thank you!" he grins at them with a hoarse voice. "You saved me!"

Kusanagi sits at the foot of his bed, Mikoto by his side, and talks first.

"You really need more common sense in that head of yours. Who works outside in weather like this?" he scolds. "Why don't you come work for me at the bar? As a performer? I'll pay you well, and you can even stay with me in the apartment above it."

"Oh, you don't have to," Totsuka starts to protest, but Kusanagi cuts him off.

"That won't do. You owe us that much for all the trouble you caused us yesterday, so you don't have the right to refuse anymore," his stern expression slowly melts into a smile. "...Anyway, heal up first and then think about it. Glad you're alright, kid."

Totsuka's smile is genuine and he laughs. "...Thank you."

"Anyway, this guy here probably has a lot to talk to you about. I'll leave you two alone." Kusanagi winks and pats Mikoto on the shoulder as he walks away, talking to a few nurses about payments and such. Mikoto has no idea what to say, where to even begin. Thankfully, it's Totsuka who breaks the silence first.

His tone of voice is still upbeat, albeit hoarse. "I was really scared, King!" he admits. "I honestly thought I'd die alone in there and no one would find out until my corpse begins to stink...how morbid..." He smiles a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, looks away from Mikoto, and drops his head onto his knees. "...But you came for me. Thank you so much."

There's a short pause. His voice turns softer. "I've never had someone come for me before, you know. Not even when I ran away from home."

"My parents...didn't want kids. I mean, I think they didn't. My dad yelled a lot. There were times when I couldn't leave the house because of the bruises...and mom always complained about having an extra mouth to feed. So when I got old enough, I left like I know they would've wanted me too."

He laughs softly, like he can't bear sounding depressed for more than a few minutes. "I just packed up my guitar and took a one-way ticket to the city. It's nice here. I make money doing the thing I love and meet _so _many interesting people. I'd like to think I made a lot of friends."

"...But they're all so busy with their own lives, you know. That's fine, but that stairway gets a little lonely sometimes."

Mikoto remembers the night Totsuka had seemed particularly gloomy. Clearly, so does Totsuka. "I think you're the first person who's sat with me there." He lifts his head and smiles, genuinely, at Mikoto. "So thank you so much, King, for finding me and talking to me~! I'm really grateful. It makes me really happy!"

Mikoto doesn't know how to answer. Totsuka doesn't seem to expect one, either, as he blushes an embarrassed red from his little soliloquy. "A-Ah, I said too much. Sorry to bother you with—"

"Suoh Mikoto."

Totsuka blinks. "...Eh?"

Mikoto sighs and repeats himself. "My name. It's Suoh Mikoto. My birthday...it's August 13th. Don't know if that's Leo."

Totsuka's eyes widen. He grins. "I knew it! So, are we friends yet?"

Mikoto smirks, leans forward, and captures his lips in a kiss. "...No. Definitely not."

* * *

Song lyrics from Heart to Heart by James Blunt.


End file.
